


It Started in 1957

by Yeahhiyellow



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Other, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-01-26 17:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21377959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeahhiyellow/pseuds/Yeahhiyellow
Summary: 1957, 1989, 1994, 2005, 2011, 2018 - they all have one thing in common.Everything started from a simple insult from Gabriel. At the beginning, it came from necessity and pain; the times they saved each other from most certain injury or death, or when something atrocious had happened. But it grew. It continued to happen time and time again. Eventually, both Crowley and Aziraphale couldn't hold back the truth anymore.They loved each other.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 90
Collections: My faves - Good Omens Whump





	1. February 6th, 1957

"What's wrong, angel?"

Crowley was only planning on stopping by the bookshop to discuss the Arrangement with Aziraphale. Well, and maybe have a chat and a drink. He surely wasn't planning on this.

Currently, this happened to be walking in to see Aziraphale curled up on the floor, clutching his stomach and crying.

"What happened?"

After a prolonged silence, Aziraphale answered the question.

"Nothing."

It was, quite obviously, incorrect.

"Nonsense." Crowley pointed at Aziraphale, who had known the answer wouldn't work but had tried it anyway, not knowing what would. "You're literally crying on the floor. 'Nothing' isn't going to cut it. Seriously, what's going on?"

"Nothing." Aziraphale hoped that if he refused to say anything else, Crowley would give up and leave. He still didn't know what else to do.

"C'mon, you can tell me. You can trust me." With this, Crowley got down on his knees and sat at Aziraphale's side. "Something is going on here, it's pretty obvious."

"You're a demon. I can't trust you."

While it was more of a defense than anything, it still hurt.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, Crowley, I didn't..."

Crowley blinked a couple times in a row - a rare occurrence - and spoke.

"Whatever. Listen, what happened to you?

Aziraphale let out a sniffle as he wiped his eyes with the fabric of his pants.

"I am stupid and ugly, aren't I?"

"What? No-"

"I never accomplish what anyone expects of me."

"Angel, listen-"

"What is it that you need? Just tell me and you can leave. I don't want to keep you here any longer-"

"No!"

Crowley placed a hand on Aziraphale's knee before drawing it back and staring at it like it had just betrayed him. It hadn't; it was all the fault of his head-over-heels mind.

"Look, angel, I don't know what happened, but you're still wrong."

"Of course I am-"

"Not like that!" A rather loud hiss escaped his mouth. "I meant you aren't stupid and ugly!"

Aziraphale blinked a couple times while trying to think of something to say. His mind was blank in every corner, and the more he searched, the more barren it became.

"But... but... I, I am. Gabriel, he - he told me so."

"GABRIEL!?"

Crowley's reaction was rather stunning; he shot back, knocked his head on a bookcase causing the entire thing to fall over and swore before miracling everything back to their places.

"That son of a BITCH?"

He rubbed his head, glaring at the bookcase before focusing back on the angel.

"Oh, you can't say that! He's an archangel!" Aziraphale paused and looked down at himself. "And he's right."

Crowley shook his head faster than was humanly possible.

"He is not right. You are one of the smartest people I've ever known, and you are not ugly." He paused as Aziraphale continued to cry. "Shit, I didn't mean to make you cry more."

"No, it's not your fault. Nothing about this is." Aziraphale wiped more tears from his eyes.

Next to the angel, Crowley sat back down. He stuck his hand out, then drew it back, stuck it out again, drew it back again, and then stared at his lap.

"I always eat too much. I look ridiculous. I'm not strong. I'll never be able to fight with Heaven in Armageddon when I'm like this."

Crowley was already madly shaking his head in disagreement; he didn't need the a-word on top of that.

"Fuck Armageddon and fuck Gabriel. It doesn't matter what you look like or how well you fight."

After sticking his hand out and drawing it back a final time, he placed it around Aziraphale's shoulders. The angel stared up at him with big eyes as another tear leaked out. As a response, Crowley gulped, and he began to take his hand off. Before he could put it back at his side, however, Aziraphale's head was on his chest, letting everything out.

"Shh, shh, it's alright, angel." He placed his other hand on Aziraphale's head and ruffled the angel's hair.

"I got you. You're okay."

They didn't speak of the incident again.


	2. July 15th, 1989

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's more than two decades later when it happens again. This time, Crowley's the one who gets insulted - all because we went to a party wearing a dress.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit! Why?"

Crowley sank down into the backseat of his Bentley. He wore a black, ruffled, sleeveless dress and had his hair elegantly curled, and of course, he also had his sunglasses on. He would've been perfectly stylish here - except that the people at the party had thought that a person who looked and sounded like a man couldn't dress up like a woman.

Earlier in the day, he'd spent several hours getting ready for the party. In the past, he'd always gone all out with his looks, and he always enjoyed doing so. However, in the past, he had worn men's clothes, and when he wore women's it was only at times when society accepted it. He should've been able to enjoy the night; after all, Aziraphale was coming, and Crowley wouldn't dare pass up an opportunity to see his angel... but the stupid, fucking humans had messed up everything.

At the moment, he was lying down, legs bending outside his Bentley, staring with his covered, yellow eyes at the ceiling. Here, in the parking lot, he wouldn't have anyone try to ruin his life - anymore than they already had, at least - and if they couldn't see his face or hear his voice, they wouldn't suspect a thing.

It had been over 2 decades since the demon had cried. Compared to an almost 6000-year lifetime, it wasn't that long, but due to the natural passage of time and the perception of it, it seemed like forever. So when a tear and a sob finally came out, they came as a shock. Crowley's heart raced as he removed his sunglasses and wiped the tear away, inadvertently smudging his dark eyeshadow and eyeliner. As more tears came, he continued, masking his cheeks and hands in smudged, wet, black.

"Why?"

Crowley knew what could happen if anyone heard him; he'd been around to see the atrocities of humanity for 6000 years. Drawing his legs in and sitting up, he slammed the car door shut and pushed himself against the opposite side.

"Why is everyone so cruel? Why does everyone have to be what others expect them to be?"

He pulled his knees up against his chest and continued to sob.

"Why is everyone like this? Why does everyone have to obey?"

His hair fell over his face as his tears soaked into the fabric of his dress. He knew he couldn't let anyone see him, and if they did... well, he would have no choice but to send them to the unpleasant place he had been in so many times.

Meanwhile, not too far away, Aziraphale was humming a cheery tune to himself in the back seat of a bright yellow taxi. He was dressed in a suit, a tartan bowtie, and a giant grin. With his eyes closed, his fingers tapped along to the little tune he was humming, deep in a daydream about having his first dance with Crowley. He was just about to dip the demon when he received a sensation that something was wrong. It started as a tingling in the back of his head, but it soon grew to a sharp pain. As he got closer to his destination, the sensation only seemed to amplify. By the time the taxi stopped and let him out, his entire body was shaking.

"Crowley?"

He had never had this sensation before, so it was purely a guess as to what it meant. Luckily, Aziraphale's intuition was pretty sharp.

"Crowley, does this have something to do with you?"

For some unknown reason, he thought he should look around for Crowley's car instead of meeting him inside the place, as they'd agreed on earlier. It was almost as if the thought had been implanted into his head by some higher authority.

"Crowley?"

He spotted the black car and walked towards it.

When Crowley heard the sound of his own car door opening, it was to no surprise that he turned to face away from the intruder and started to snap away whoever it was.

"Crowley, what in the heavens are you doing?"

Hearing Aziraphale's voice, he stopped mid-snap and spun around.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Hearing his voice crack and only realizing Aziraphale could see his wet, reddish yellow eyes a second too late, he mumbled a quiet, "fuck."

"Oh! Crowley! What on earth happened?"

Crowley looked down at the seat next to him, indicating Aziraphale to get in and shut the door, but the angel didn't pick up on it.

"Are you alright there? You look like something absolutely atrocious just happened!"

"M'fine."

It came out a bit too aggressive, but if anything, Crowley winced more than Aziraphale.

"Get in and close the door. I really don't want anyone else hearing."

"Oh, bebop, this is just sounding worse by the moment."

Aziraphale climbed in and closed the car door behind him. 

"What happened, Crowley? Are you sure you're alright there? I'm getting very concerned."

Crowley's lack of a response said enough in itself.

"I'm here for you, Crowley."

He paused, his eyes traveling down to the black fabric of the demon's dress.

"And my, I have to say, I love your outfit. You look just tip top in that, even when you're upset."

"M'not upset."

Crowley's combative tone didn't match his smile and blush. Still, soon enough, he was back to frowning.

"But that's the problem. They all think I can't dress up like this because I sound like a guy. They threw me out and threatened to call the cops and kill me."

He put his feet down on the floor and leaned against the seat.

"It's so unfair. All I did was wear a dress."

Aziraphale's eyes grew angry as he bit his lip.

"Those b... bad humans. I'm going to go in there and give them a piece of my mind."

"No, don't bother."

When he shook his head, he meant it.

"They're not going to change from someone yelling at them, and they're all going to hell anyways."

He closed his eyes and tilted his head towards Aziraphale, unaware that he was doing so.

"Oh, Crowley, but what about you?"

"I'll be okay. I just need some time to process everything."

Crowley inched towards Aziraphale, still completely ignorant as to his own actions.

"Of course. Whatever you want, Crowley."

Aziraphale put his hand on the door handle. He prepared to leave Crowley some time on his own to think, still oblivious to any of Crowley's subconscious physical cues.

"Wait! You don't have to leave!"

Crowley froze as he realized what he'd wanted from this night all along. He gulped and nearly hissed at himself, insecurities and doubts getting the best of him.

"Oh. Oh, yes, of course, I can stay here for however long you wish. All I had planned for tonight was seeing you at the party, so..."

Aziraphale turned to Crowley and folded his hands on his thighs, waiting for something he didn't know was coming.

Still crying, Crowley laid his head down on Aziraphale's lap and let the sobs come out.

"Oh, Crowley, don't worry. It doesn't matter what anyone says, you still look marvelous to me."

Crowley sobbed as he realized there was at least one being out there who truly cared.

That night was never mentioned again, even though the memory would continue to linger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! I can't express how much comments, kudos, bookmarks and everything mean to me. As always, I hope you liked it, and the next chapter will be out soon!


	3. June 18th, 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always the night after a pride parade when things go awry. In 1994, with the LGBT+ movement only recently kicking off, this was especially true. Even for angels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am finally back with the next chapter! I apologize for it coming out so late, my classes have been killing me (and climate strikes needed to be organized).  
Also, warning: this part gets into serious issues. It includes violence and crude language, so please read at your own risk.

Aziraphale was walking in the dark, and the person walking behind him was making sure to step extra quietly.

It was no wonder he didn't react in time.

The man struck him in the head, causing Aziraphale to become immediately unconscious. He was an angel - but angels were still affected by being unexpectedly hit over the head with a fist traveling at a maximum speed of 5 meters per second.

This man had never met Aziraphale before, neither did he know who Aziraphale was. What he did know, however, was that Aziraphale was wearing a rainbow pin and sporting a rainbow face tattoo on one cheek just after a pride parade.

"Dirty faggot."

He turned the limp Aziraphale onto his back and ripped the pin from his chest. Not even bothering to look at the scars on Aziraphale's face he'd just inflicted, he threw the pin across the road and into a ditch.

"You'll learn your lesson from me, alright."

Pinning Aziraphale down with one arm, he began to scratch at the angel's rainbow cheek. He slapped Aziraphale's face and shoved his head against the ground.

"Fucking faggot."

He was tearing at the angel's neck when two snakeskin boots appeared in front of him.

"Lay off my angel, bitch."

The man looked up at a tall, slender person with sunglasses. After his first impression of it being weird for anyone to be wearing sunglasses in the pitch-black of night, he gawked.

"What are you, his boyfriend?"

He stood up and raised an eyebrow.

"I bet I could beat your little ass any day. Ya wanna go?"

It was in that moment that the demon took off his sunglasses, revealing glowing, yellow, snake eyes. If that wasn't enough to make the man frightened, he also brought out the black wings from his back and lifted them high above his head.

"I betcha you couldn't."

The man was only turning around to flee when the demon snapped him away.

"Angel?"

On the ground, Aziraphale's eyes were fluttering. Crowley was next to him within less than a second.

"Angel, are you alright?"

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley in utter confusion.

"Guaf appened..."

"God," he choked, "you scared me."

Crowley cupped Aziraphale's chin in one hand while he miracled away the scars on his cheek and then forehead with the other.

"There was a man who tried to attack you, but he's gone now, 'kay?"

Knowing the angel would also be upset at the rips in his jacket, he fixed them up as well.

"Here, here, sit up."

He extended his hand out to Aziraphale, who blearily took it and sat up, only to collapse down again.

"Oh, shit. No. No, no, no, no. Nevermind. You... you should lay down for a while."

Crowley sat down by the angel's head and lifted it into his lap. Stroking his hair, Crowley stared into his eyes.

"I got you, angel."

He leaned down until he was a few inches away from Aziraphale's face, both of their hearts racing.

"I won't let any other homophobic idiots bother you."

After a few more minutes, he sat back up and helped Aziraphale to his feet.

Neither one of them brought up that night again after.


	4. October 5th, 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's October 5th, 2005 this time - and Crowley has never needed Aziraphale more. He's been dunked head first into the horrors of humanity, and without some miraculous help, he won't be able to get out.  
*please read my note below*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooooohhhhhh boy. I have a lot to say.  
First off, I know it's been months since I uploaded the last chapter, and yeah, I kind of feel bad about that. I've had quite the last few months (then again, who hasn't?) and I feel kind of guilty for putting this off for so long, so hopefully this next chapter will make up for it.  
While I finished this chapter a while ago, I was debating whether or not to publish it for a long time. It contains some really heavy topics, and I was worried about getting them "right" in my writing. Ultimately though, I published this because I personally feel like they need to be talked about in all means, including fiction. At the same time, if you have any issues with the way I portrayed anything in here, feel free to get in contact with me. I'm open to criticism (and I think it's important to be).  
With all that said,  
*TRIGGER WARNING - INCLUDES ATTEMPTED RAPE AND MENTAL HEALTH/SELF-ESTEEM ISSUES - PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK*

October 5th, 2005

It wasn't uncommon to see Crowley drunk. It also wasn't uncommon for him to drink himself into oblivion after he found out about something cruel the humans did. What was uncommon, however, was for any human to find a stranger to have drunk twenty-two bottles of whiskey and yet still find that stranger to be able to talk normally as if they were completely sober.

"Another twenty of the same."

Crowley slid over a hundred-dollar bill, which the waiter took. She then stared at it, stared at her customer, and nodded, knowing it was her duty to follow orders and not ask out of the ordinary questions.

"Would you like me to keep the change?"

"Yeah. My treat. Whatever."

The waiter picked up a few of the empty bottles after staring at her customer for a while longer.

"Uh, okay."

She waddled off, looking back over her shoulder every few seconds.

Waiting for his next drinks, Crowley stared at one of the remaining nineteen empty bottles.

"Fucking humans."

He put his head against the wall and sighed.

"All they do is hurt each other 'n' hope their enemy dies."

The waiter returned with her arms overloaded. It was a miracle she hadn't dropped any of the bottles yet. Then again, Crowley was there, and he wanted his whiskey.

"Here's your order. Can I get anything else for you today?"

Within less than a second, Crowley already had a bottle open and was chugging it down.

"Twen-y more, pw-ease."

He slid another hundred-dollar bill over, and the waiter took it along with some of the empty bottles.

Within the next hour, Crowley had drank himself into a state of confusion and carelessness. The waiter had kept an eye on him, baffled as to how he could drink so much and not collapse over dead. Still, he hadn't, and her shift had to eventually end, meaning the only people in the bar had no idea how much he'd just consumed.

So when a tall, muscular man strolled into the bar and over to Crowley, no one bothered to look out for him.

"Hello, there."

The man struck a hand out for Crowley to shake. When Crowley reached out a limp hand a half of a meter to the right of where the man had just extended his, the man grinned.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance. You can call me William. What is your name?"

"'M Cow-wey."

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"'Mah wame'sss Cwow-wey."

"Okay. Sure."

As Crowley looked up at him, the man who called himself William let out a boisterous laugh. He was large and broad-shouldered, and he wore all black. Unlike Crowley, however, it wasn't for the style - it looked more like the clothes of a criminal. To Crowley, he also appeared as if he had 4 eyes, 2 mouths, and 2 noses, but then again, Crowley was absolutely hammered.

"Listen," the man breathed. His posture and entire tone of voice had changed. He had his hands folded on the table and was leaning down, too close to Crowley for the demon to be comfortable. With focused eyes and a menacing smirk, he continued. "You don't seem to be having the best night. Why don't you and I," he glanced to the side, "go out for some fun? Something personal, intimate. What d'ya say?"

In the state he was in, Crowley only looked at the man in confusion.

"Do wha-?"

"There's an empty spot behind this building. No one would ever see us. You and I could get it on back there, if you catch my drift."

He only recieved a blank stare.

"Explore each other. Take it all off. Just you and I."

He cursed under his breath as Crowley continued to be clueless, drunk out of his mind.

"What I'm trying to suggest is that we could fuck."

Finally, Crowley seemed to clue in. He shook his head before falling face-first onto the table from dizziness.

"No..."

"C'mon, it'll be fun. I can take you places you've never been before." The words came out dark and heavy, condescending and threatening.

"I said no..." Crowley incoherently drawled.

"I'll pay you. How much do you want?" The man's teeth clamped shut in his mouth as he slammed a fist on the table.

"Nofing. Go 'way."

"What, are you scared?"

It was meant to be an insult, but it didn't work as he planned it to.

"Yesss... I dunno ya."

"You fucking piece of-"

The man grabbed Crowley's arm with one hand and his neck with the other, making the demon's skin turn white under his fingers and nearly choking him.

"You're coming with me. For your own sake, don't try anything you think might get you out of this."

Now, if Crowley weren't so drunk, there were many ways he could've gotten out of this situation. It would've been easy to snap the man away. Crowley could've alerted someone in the bar to William's actions and made himself sober. At the moment, though, he was incapable of snapping, let alone thinking up coherent ideas.

"Leggo a' me..."

Instead, his request was drowned out by the man lifting him up and dragging him out the door.

At the opposite end of the city, Aziraphale had been sitting in his bookshop reading a funny romance novel while sipping on a hot cup of cocoa. He had been laughing along with the book for hours as two of the most-definitely-fictional characters, two ethereal beings, denied their obvious love for each other repeatedly while simultaneously trying to save the world from impending doom. Just a hypothetical story with no connection to what would happen in his life at all. For the first few hours, he had been having a jovial time, laughing and crying for these (fictional) characters to get together. As the night had progressed, however, he had started to feel an odd tingling sensation at the back of his head, ultimately distracting him from finishing.

Setting down the book, Aziraphale looked outside his window into the dark. He couldn't see much else besides the twinkle of city lights among the darkness. The distant, glowing yellow circles contrasted against the black of the night. It almost reminded him of someone...

The pain hit him like a ton of bricks.

"My lord." He gasped and lurched forward in his chair, only catching himself at the last second. "Is this... the only other time I've had this was when... Crowley..."

He didn't even remember to turn the lights off.

While Aziraphale was having this moment of realization, Crowley had been dragged, punched, thrown, shoved, and was now on the ground behind the store where a fence, a couple cars, and the bar blocked him from everyone's view.

That is, everyone except the man who referred to himself as "William."

"Don't you dare move. Don't even think of it. You are going to stay right here until I'm done."

"Help... Asirafale..."

His cry for help was met with a slap to the face, knocking his sunglasses off.

"I don't know what you're saying, and I don't care. Shut the fuck - what is wrong with your eyes?" He stared at them for a few seconds and shook his head in disgust. "Of all the people I could've chosen, it had to be someone as ugly as you."

"A... azia... please-"

"I told you to shut up!"

"Azi... ra... phale..."

"Shut your fucking trap, would you?"

A muffled noise came from the demon as his mouth was tied with his own jacket.

"Listen, no angel is going to magically come down and save you. You're worthless, you hear me? You're worthless!"

Crowley mumbled something unintelligibly. Whether it was a mumble of protest or agreement, it was hard to tell.

"Fucking bitch. Do as I say, or there will be far worse consequences."

A whimper came from behind the jacket as the man tore off Crowley's belt.

"Shut up, you filthy piece of-"

The man was cut off by someone's footsteps coming around the building.

"Shit!"

But it was too late for him. A person with fluffy, white hair and a tartan bowtie was standing directly in his line of sight, screaming bloody murder.

And just when the man thought he was in enough trouble, a cop car came around the corner, who "just happened" to be looking for him for his previous crimes.

He ran.

"Crowley! Oh, my dear boy..."

The angel rushed over to Crowley, who heaved a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes and sank back, trusting the angel to fix him up.

"Crowley!? How the hell did this happen - oh, oh... dear..."

Aziraphale turned around and covered his eyes with his hand, his eyes having drifted down to where Crowley's belt was no more. He snapped with his other hand, Crowley's belt popping itself back on.

"I am so, so, so sorry." He peeked back around, exposing his flushed, bright pink cheeks.

"Here, I'll get that jacket off from around your mouth, okay?"

Crowley mumbled, nodding his head ever so slightly. Aziraphale lifted his head up, undoing the knot the man had tied with the arms of Crowley's jacket. He held Crowley's head off the ground as he moved the jacket aside.

"How much did you have to drink!?"

"I don't... rem... ber..."

"You must have had hundreds of strong whiskeys to get you this drunk, what the hell happened?"

Crowley didn't answer.

"For her sake, Crowley! What have you been doing? I'm going to sober you up. You can't even hold your own head up like this." Closing his eyes, Aziraphale concentrated on getting all the alcohol out of Crowley's bloodstream. (Several waiters, meanwhile, were shocked to see hundreds more whiskey bottles on the shelves of their store.)

As soon as Aziraphale finished, Crowley jumped back, staring at Aziraphale before glaring at himself in disbelief.

"Crowley?"

He jumped back once more, this time hitting his head on the side of the building and collapsing onto the ground, stunned.

"Crowley! Oh, dear, what is even going on today..." The angel inched over to Crowley's side, glancing between him and a blank part of the wall. "Are.. are you okay?"

"Fine," Crowley mumbled back, his eyes unmoving from his shaking hands.

"Um, what... what happened? Why are you so drunk? Why the hell you're here!?"

"Nothing," Crowley shot back, still looking down. "Just me being worthless. Worthless. So fucking worthless-"

"What?" Aziraphale leaned in closer, having never heard this sort of talk from Crowley and being utterly baffled by it.

"I'm worthless," Crowley continued. "I'm sorry Aziraphale, but I'm stupid. Ugly. Loud. Filthy. A bitch. A piece of shit-"

"Who told you that!?"

"You shouldn't have come here." Crowley covered his face with his hands. "You shouldn't see me like this. You shouldn't see me. I'm so sorry for this."

"Of course I should have came here! What are you saying?"

"You're worth so much more than I could ever hope to be. I let myself get assaulted because I was too drunk and stupid to do anything about it. I let everything get to my head. I'm too sensitive. I act like I don't care, but I do. I asked questions when I shouldn't have. I fail at everything I do. I fell." Crowley gasped for air, clutching his stomach and scratching at the snake imprinted on the side of his head.

"That... man..." Crowley sniffed as he wrapped his arms around his knees. "He told me everything I knew but wouldn't admit. I'm sorry. I never should've talked to you. I never should've dragged you into my life. I never should've been nice, because being nice is only being mean. I'm sorry, angel, I'm so sorry. I'm just a fucking failure. You can admit it."

Crowley's eyes were brimming with tears. He closed his eyes to try and get rid of them, but the tears only started rolling down his face.

"Crowley, my dear..." Aziraphale rubbed his sleeve against Crowley's cheek, absorbing the tears that fell. "Don't ever let anyone tell you any of those things. Or anything like that. Or anything bad about you at all."

Crowley gulped, shook his head, and covered his face, hiding the dozens of tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I mean it, Crowley. Don't let anyone ever tell you any of those things again." He cupped Crowley's chin and brought his face back out, resting his other hand on the demon's cheek. "You're beautiful. You're intelligent. You're worthy. I don't care what that man said. I don't care what the angels said. I don't care what God herself-" he paused, nearly choking on his own words. "I..." he rested his hands on the ground, his eyes wide. "I. Don't. Care. What. God. Said."

He closed his eyes and waited for his white wings to start burning, his skin to start seething, his entire body to crumble under the pain, to finally fall into that pit of burning sulfur he'd been avoiding for millennia - but when he opened his eyes, he was still there, in the parking lot with his best friend, the both of them crying their hearts out.

"You are everything. You are everything I need. And so much more."

The angel's face inched closer to the demon's as they stared into eachother's tear-stained eyes.

"You are my world, dear. And I wouldn't give you up for anything."

Aziraphale closed his eyes.

"I promise."

Just inches away from Crowley's lips, Aziraphale lurched back, looking down at the ground.

"Uh, where... where are your sunglasses - ah, there, yes, there, uh, yeah, there they are. Um. Here." Refusing to let himself look at Crowley, he grabbed the sunglasses and handed them back.

"Yes. Okay." Crowley broke his stunned silence, glancing at Aziraphale before turning back away to put his sunglasses on, shielding his eyes and the tears inside them.

"I, um," the angel started, but couldn't finish.

"Yeah. Uh. So. That..."

The two sat in the eerie, uncomfortable silence, taking turns staring at each other and looking away before the other noticed.

"I. Mean. What should, uh, we do, um, now-"

"Damn, they still didn't kiss!? It's going to take the end of the world for these absolute idiots to realize they're in love..."

The voice seemed to come from nowhere, perhaps from somewhere above, but it was just loud enough for the two to hear it.

"Did you..." Aziraphale trailed off, thinking about the words a bit more. "Nevermind."

The words it's not true, it's just you echoed in his head.

His gaze moved over to Crowley's jacket, which was lying crumpled on the ground. He picked it up and dusted it off before holding it out to Crowley.

"Here's, um, your jacket."

Crowley looked up at him and took the jacket from Aziraphale's outstretched hand, holding his gaze before looking down and gulping.

"Thank you." He pulled the jacket on as he stood up, still shaking and crying. "Thank you so much, angel. For everything."

He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, who stood there for a couple seconds before wrapping his arms around Crowley. The demon's chest rose and fell, shaking with his sobs.

"Thank you."

"Of course, Crowley. Just don't say those words again. Or mention any of this. For our sake."

He didn't.


	5. January 3rd, 2007

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demons don't just send rude notes. While Crowley knows this (and faces the consequences), Aziraphale has no idea what he's going to walk into the aftermath of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late again - you ever write a chapter, then revise it, then write the chapters before it, then come back to it months later and realize you've grown as a writer and you hate it, so you rewrite the entire thing, then revise it again, all while taking way too many advanced classes for your own good and being a co-leader of a local organization and publishing several songs you wrote and sang and produced online and tried to help with BLM online because you live with someone immuno-compromised but still want to help all during a global pandemic? Because AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter. It's another angsty hurt/comfort because that helps me deal with my unresolved trauma. Help.

9:55 AM. That's what the clock read, that's what his watch read, that's what his phone read. But it felt like so much more time had already passed by. So much more time since last night, when Crowley had failed a tempting.

It was supposed to have been easy. All Crowley had to do was convince a politician to take a bribe of cash from an oil company. It would have worked perfectly if that Archangel Michael hadn't shown up and stopped him. It was the one time in centuries that they'd been in London, and it of course had to be at the exact same time Crowley had been trying to complete his assigned tempting.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," Crowley cursed, pacing back and forth, the plants around him shaking noticeably with fear.

Although neither Heaven nor Hell cared how things got done, they did care whether or not they did. And Hell, unlike Heaven, didn't just send rude notes.

Crowley had already learned that lesson all too well. A few centuries ago, he'd failed a tempting for the first time in his life. Less than a day later, he had been tied up in ropes and chains, gagged, and stabbed repeatedly with a holy rod.

"They could come any time now. Fuck, what am I going to do?"

The fact that Crowley knew what was going to happen made it so much worse. The anxiety, the dread, the terror of knowing exactly what was going to happen to him had built up so much that he felt he was going to burst. And the anticipation of it all was only a piece of the battle - he still had to go through the agony of the actual event and however many months it would take him to recover afterwards.

"Why do they do this to me? Why are they so cruel... the bastards..." Crowley's eyes landed on a certain painting on the wall. This was why he'd wanted the holy water in the first place. If anyone ever came after him again, he could protect himself. Providing no other demon came too soon, giving him enough time to unlock the safe, that could be a way to defend himself.

Crowley scrambled over to the painting and swung it off the wall. He could do this. He just needed to be careful. Very careful. Now if he could just get the holy water out before anyone came-

The doorbell buzzed.

"Fuck!"

Crowley stumbled onto the floor and crawled behind his desk.

Beelzebub was here.

"Oh, Crowley... you know what I'm here for..."

Beelzebub creaked the door open and stepped inside. The door ominously clicked shut behind zim.

"Listen, I know what it looks like, but I did everything I was supposed to. If you care about this so much you should be doing this to the archangel who stopped me, not me, please."

Crowley grabbed the desk, leaning against it to steady himself as he got back to his feet.

"You failed, Crowley," Beelzebub boomed, inching towards him. "You failed, and you know what happens to demons when they fail."

"I didn't fail, I never fail, you don't have to hurt me-"

"Like I would believe that," Beelzebub scoffed, taking another step forward. "Listen, this is going to be easy. I'm not going to tie you up or anything. Time management. I don't have to, now that you know how this goes."

Crowley gulped and clutched his stomach as Beelzebub reached into one of zir pockets. This was too similar to previous events, with demons, angels, and humans. Memories long blocked out filled Crowley's head. But he knew now wasn't the time to think about the past, now was the time to get out of what was happening in the present. Assuming there even was a way out.

"Are you zzzcared?" Beelzebub chuckled. "You should be. You know exactly what's going to happen to you. Just don't be giving yourself any pity. You were the one who failed."

Beelzebub continued to step forward as Crowley grew silent.

"You're lucky I didn't choose to kill you. You would be easy to replace. No one in hell needs you, or ever will."

Beelzebub pulled out the glowing, holy rod.

"Then again, hell is trying to work on efficiency, so for now I'll just stick to the old ways."

With Crowley backed against the wall, Beelzebub pointed the rod to Crowley's chest.

"You can dream of something better, but nothing you could ever do will get you away from thizzzz."

With a single thrust, Beelzebub threw the rod into Crowley's chest.

"Stop!"

"Pathetic. Even I thought you would've been better."

Beelzebub threw the rod into Crowley again. Blood flowed down Crowley's body.

"I'm begging you!"

"You got yourself into this."

The rod was shoved into Crowley again. He screamed.

"It hurts!"

"Of course. I know that."

Beelzebub rammed the rod into Crowley again. The force knocked Crowley's sunglasses off, exposing bright yellow eyes.

"Please! Please! I'll follow your every word! Just stop!"

Beelzebub cackled.

"Demonzzz don't forgive, either."

Beelzebub threw the rod into Crowley a final time, and he crumpled to the floor. His blood pooled around him as he shrieked in pain.

"You know what will happen if you fail again."

And with that, Beelzebub strode out the door.

With more blood oozing out of him every second, Crowley lay motionless on the cold, gray floor of his own flat. Everything hurt, from his chest to his head to his feet. The world was blurry and filled with black spots, as no one, even demons, were supposed to lose that amount of blood. He whimpered, and then flinched from the pain that whimper caused. If only he could just fall asleep, the pain could be gone for at least a little while. But it all hurt too much. Everything was too much. The pain, the fear, the impounding belief that he was a failure, that this was all his own fault. Nothing and no one could fix him. Maybe they could heal his body, but they could never fix who he was. How bad of a demon, or a human, or even just a being.

A tear rolled out of his eye, and he tried to wipe it away. But as soon as he moved his arm, more pain struck him, and he laid it back down, limp.

If only he were strong enough to perform a miracle, the physical pain could at least be alleviated. But he was too weak; Beelzebub had made sure of that. How long was he going to have to lay here before he could do anything? Anything besides crying and thinking about how much of a failure he was...

The phone on his desk rang. Crowley widened his eyes and took a sharp breath before letting out a yelp from the movement. He listened as the message of his voicemail played, anticipating the voice of a demon to come through.

"Hello, my dear Crowley? Aziraphale here. It's past ten and you're nowhere to be found. You said you wanted to show me that plant of yours, remember? We agreed on ten? I wouldn't suspect you to be late. I'll try calling your cellular phone. Cellphone, is it?"

Crowley closed his eyes and relaxed at the sound of Aziraphale's voice. If only he were here right now, Crowley could calm down. Have someone to reassure him, care for him, love him - well, maybe not love him, but at least make sure he was okay.

But really, honestly, what would be the consequences of the angel actually being here? He would be seeing Crowley at his weakest yet. And then, there was always the question of whether or not he even deserved to have the angel in his pathetic life...

Crowley's cellphone rang next. He moved towards it, trying to reach it to answer it, but only gasped in more pain.

"Hello, dear, it's Aziraphale again. I called you on your other phone, but you didn't pick up. You were supposed to come show me your new plant today. I'm worried, and my head is hurting. Please tell me you're okay, or I'm coming to yours to check on you."

If he was coming here, that would mean he would see Crowley like this. Even if he wanted to be comforted, he couldn't risk the angel seeing him right now. What would he think? Crowley failed a tempting and failed to get the holy water in time. Would Aziraphale even want to help Crowley if he knew how worthless he was?

At the same time, what else could he do? The angel was coming over, and Crowley was too weak to move or perform any demonic miracles. There was no getting out of this. Aziraphale was going to know the truth about him.

The doorbell rang.

The angel's shaking voice came from outside the door: "Crowley? Dear, may I please come in?"

A second of silence.

"Are you okay? Please answer me!"

Crowley kept his mouth shut, hoping Aziraphale would leave forever and come in and stay with him for all of eternity at the same time.

"I'm coming in, okay?"

He creaked open the door and poked his head in.

"Crowle- CROWLEY!"

Crowley had never heard the angel scream so loud in his life.

"Oh my god, you're bleeding everywhere, please don't discorporate, oh, my dear-" He rushed over to the demon and kneeled by his side, not caring or even noticing his clothes were getting cloaked with blood- "who did this to you!?"

Crowley's mouth opened slightly, nothing more than a whimper and a flinch of pain coming out.

"Oh, oh dear! You must be in so much pain! Here-" Aziraphale moved his hand above Crowley's head, down his torso, and eventually over his feet- "no more injuries."

Closing his eyes, Crowley let out a sigh of relief.

"I, I-I'm sorry..."

"For what? What did you do?" the angel asked, pausing from cleaning up the blood on Crowley's clothes.

"I fail, I failed... a tempting."

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side.

"Why are you apologizing for that? I'm an angel, if anything - wait - is that why... did they... did the demons do this to you?" His voice grew louder with every word, his eyes widening.

"Demons don't just send rude notes." He nodded his head. "They're not like you."

"How could they ever f- uh, think of hurting you?" Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley's back, and he didn't push it away. "I'm never going to let those scoundrels hurt you again, dear."

Again, Crowley shook his head.

"Try to stop them, and they'll only hurt you. Look - you, you really shouldn't be here. Not with me like... like this."

"According to whom?"

"According to everyone."

Crowley finally pulled out from Aziraphale's touch.

"My side wants me suffering. Yours doesn't want you - fraternizing - with a demon like me. And I don't want you to see me like this. I'm fine. I'm cool. I'm okay on my own."

A tear leaked down his eye.

"I shouldn't, I don't... need... you."

"Yes." Aziraphale looked down at his knees. "Well, I've physically healed you, so if you want me to, I can leave-"

"No!" Crowley froze. "I mean, yeah. No. You should, but..."

Aziraphale squinted his eyes, as if he were trying to read Crowley and couldn't see the letters well enough.

"Can you stay, just for a little while?"

"Why, of course, dear."

Crowley moved closer to Aziraphale, and then Aziraphale did the same to Crowley, and Crowley got closer to Aziraphale again.

"I'm so, so sorry, angel, I shouldn't be like this-"

"Please, don't be sorry for needing a bit of support.

"But I'm a failure."

"You failed at one thing. So?"

Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, confused.

"That's one temptation. You shouldn't have to be scared of messing up once in a while. No one should."

More tears came from Crowley's eyes, and Aziraphale wiped them off before pulling Crowley into his lap.

"You're still a lovely, lovely demon. And messing up a couple times doesn't make you a failure. I know it might not seem like it now, but it doesn't."

Crowley leaned into Aziraphale's shoulder, and Aziraphale hugged him tight.

"It makes you human."

Neither of them brought up what happened that day again.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I've already written the next three-and-a-half chapters, so all I have left to do is edit and publish them. I promise they'll be out soon!  
Thank you so much for reading 💛


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